


with anything a little less

by tentaclemonster



Series: 100 Fandoms Challenge [38]
Category: Best Served Cold - Joe Abercrombie, The First Law - Joe Abercrombie
Genre: 100 Fandoms Challenge, F/M, Gen, Mentions of Canon-Typical Murder, Moral Bankruptcy, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22223269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: Day fumbles her first solo assignment and Morveer fumbles at offering comfort.
Relationships: Castor Morveer & Day
Series: 100 Fandoms Challenge [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257083
Kudos: 14
Collections: The 100 Multifandom Challenge





	with anything a little less

**Author's Note:**

> 038/100 for the 100 Fandoms Challenge. Written for prompt #69 – wallow.
> 
> Title from the Charlene Kaye song ‘Poison Apple’.

“Now, my dear, you really shouldn’t wallow,” Morveer said as he patted Day’s arm somewhat awkwardly once and then twice before he gave it up altogether and let his hand slip away. 

His fingers flexed oddly down where they fell at his side as though they’d just got done petting some strange animal and weren’t quite sure whether they liked the touch of it. 

Not an altogether bad comparison, truly. Morveer had had his fair share of them to know that apprentices were as strange creatures as any; creatures that were, much like any other animal, frequently disappointing, often a danger to themselves and sometimes to him, and only on very rare occasions inspiring to work with and to teach. 

Day, so far, had been more inspiring than any of the rest and with none of the poor qualities any of his former apprentices held that had led to their entirely timely deaths or dismissals, but for all that Morveer was pleased with her, comfort had still never been a concoction he could call himself an expert of. 

Poison was less hazardous, after all. Less deadly to get right. The correct number of drops it would take to incapacitate a guard, the right amount of powder to kill his master, the ideal force of breath through a blow gun to send the needle on its way to the neck of anyone else who got in the way – all of it was less dodgy than figuring out whether to give a hug or to pick out the right words to make someone feel better about themselves rather than violently ill. 

Morveer had never had to bother with it before and had never wanted to, but then again, Morveer had never had an apprentice he actually  _ liked _ before and wouldn’t have been happy to send into a coma with something noxious but tasteless slipped into their tea.

That was the trouble with getting attached – to apprentices or to animals: it meant having to deal with things one would rather not have to deal with at all but still had to, both for their sake and for yours, like picking up their shit from the floor so you wouldn’t later step in it or giving them a shoulder to cry on so they wouldn’t think you entirely callous and get it into their head to kill you later for not being supportive enough during their moments of emotional compromise.

Apprentices, at least, tended to have more control over their bowels than animals did and to Morveer’s relief and Day’s credit, the girl was not crying – wallowing while stuffing her frowning mouth with an alarming amount of cherry cake, yes, but her eyes were dry and gluttony was a much more forgivable trespass to Morveer than crying. 

Day could have as much cake as she wanted so long as she didn’t start leaking from the eyes and nose like the young were prone to do and force Morveer to dispatch the only hopeful apprentice he’d had in so many years for the crime of grating on his nerves.

“The best laid plans sometimes go awry,” Morveer said in a voice he hoped was soothing. “Even when you take no chances and you account for every possible variable, there is still the occasional hiccup. An unfortunate truth in our profession, but alas! A master poisoner must learn to roll with the punches, as they say.”

Morveer then gave Day a broad smile, full of reassurance and grace, happy to close the door on the subject and roll away from it himself.

“I killed his brothers,” Day said glumly back. She ate the last bit of her slice of cake and was eyeing the remaining cake on the table as much as a parched man in the desert would eye a trough of water.

Morveer’s smile slipped. He coughed into his fist. “Yes, that was quite inopportune….for them. Who knew they’d be visiting today of all days or that he’d share the pipe you poisoned with them?” Morveer laughed like it was the grandest of jokes and waved it off like it was no more than a leaf in the wind. “But, my dear, you killed  _ him _ and that’s all that matters! A little collateral damage is acceptable in our business so long as the terms the employer sets are all carried out.”

“I killed his  _ wife _ ,” Day said, and dragged the remaining cake on the table right to her. She speared her fork into it viciously and took a huge bite, not even bothering to slice it and move that slice to her own plate. 

“Slightly more inopportune –  _ almost _ for us, if not for the fact that the lady paid in advance for our handling of her husband.” Morveer sighed. “In the future, you will of course want to avoid our employers being included in that collateral even if you complete the work you were hired by them for. You can only kill so many of them before you get a reputation for it and no one wants to hire you at all for fear of being next – though,  _ really _ , the woman should have known better than to walk into that room filled with poisoned smoke after we explicitly told her that we’d be putting the poison in his pipe!” Morveer scoffed. “How foolish! I don’t blame you for it at all, my dear. There are hiccups that happen even with perfect plans and then there’s suicide and this, surely, was the latter. You have  _ nothing _ to wallow about, as I’ve said. Nothing at all!”

Day’s fork had stilled inside the cake, half-way through the pink icing on top, and she looked at Morveer over the top of it as she held the utensil aloft in her hand. It was the look of a fox, Morveer thought. A kind of look he’d often seen on his own face in the mirror, though his face had never been smeared with frosting before. 

“She already paid us?” Day asked.

Morveer gave her a similar look back. Looking into a mirror, indeed! 

“My dear, what do we not take?” he prompted.

“Chances,” Day answered. 

One end of her lip was starting to curl upward. Morveer smiled approvingly at the sight of it, at the indication that the wallowing would soon be at an end now that he’d rooted out the source of it. 

“Another unfortunate truth in our profession: there is no greater chance than the first job you take from a new employer,” Morveer said solemnly. “There’s no trust built yet on either side and it’s often the case that after commissioning services such as those we offer, an employer might become even more mistrustful no matter how good a reputation you may have for completing a job – and keeping your mouth shut about it and who hired you afterwards. Often they’ll take it into their head not to pay you, or  _ worse _ –“

“To pay someone else to poison you?” Day ventured.

“Or to drive you through with a sword. Mercenaries,” Morveer spat the word, “have a brute skill set and therefore come at a brute’s price. Much cheaper, in the view of some, to stiff a poisoner whose wage is naturally higher because our skills are much less common and to use a fraction of what we’re owed to pay someone else to get rid of us. Quite the bargain to some. That’s why we never take chances and --”

“We always get paid first.”

Morveer beamed. “Exactly, my dear!  _ Ex _ -actly! At least until some trust is built or you’re dealing with employers of some status, then you can afford to take  _ some _ chance and if you get stiffed anyway then you can always kill them later.”

Day laughed at that, a bright and silvery sound, and Morveer found himself laughing back instinctively though he hadn’t been telling a joke. 

Having an apprentice he liked, Morveer was finding, was not such a bad thing. Much better than having a pet of any other kind. Perhaps this one would actually last, even, and not end badly. Perhaps their relationship would not have to end at all. Perhaps...


End file.
